


Bumping Down the 6th Plane

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Animal Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apollo Justice adopts the reincarnation of Dahlia Hawthorne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bumping Down the 6th Plane

**Title** : Bumping Down the 6th Plane  
 **Rating** : PG-13 (animal death)  
 **Prompt** : Apollo Justice adopts the reincarnation of Dahlia Hawthorne.

  
She's Apollo's third cat.

He's always wanted a pet. A few of the foster homes Apollo grew up in had some -- he spent two years with a best friend in the form of a golden retriever named Leslie, and lived in multiple homes that had cats far too weary of strange, disturbed kids to ever come close. He'd lay on his stomach and try to coax them out of corners and out from under beds with treats and a soft, cooing voice, but it rarely worked. Once, he made a deal with a foster mother, did an extra hour of chores each night, and got a hamster he named Carmichael. That is, until one of the other foster kids opened the cage and Carmichael was found under the stove a month later, burnt to a little blackened crisp.

One of the first things Apollo did when he settled into his own place -- his first real place, not the little cramped hovel he made do with while working under Mr. Gavin -- was visit the local animal shelter. Childish excitement welled in his chest as he walked past the cages, no longer having to worry about some bully hurting his pet or talking some half-interested caretaker into even allowing him to own it, his biggest worry _now_ was trying to decide which pet was right for him -- which, as it turned out, wasn't much of a decision at all. As soon as he saw Briscoe, he knew.

Briscoe was a fat, long-haired beast with copper eyes and black splotches on her white coat. Apollo was warned that the cat might take a while to warm up to him, but Briscoe had no difficulties making herself at home. She poked around Apollo's apartment, sniffed a few corners, and immediately identified the best perch in the place: Apollo's living room windowsill.

Briscoe wasn't exactly affectionate as much as _expecting_. She expected evening rubdowns, she expected Apollo to be home to care for her, and she expected Apollo to be in the bed for her to curl up against each night.

Apollo wouldn't exactly word it this way out loud, but he got McCoy because Briscoe obviously needed a friend.

McCoy was another big cat, but he was timid, orange and white like a creamsicle with ridiculously big paws. Briscoe was happy to show him the ropes, and they'd wrestle playfully in doorways and in the kitchen and really, anywhere that was ideal for tripping Apollo. McCoy was a good deal more vocal than Briscoe, mewing a greeting in a quiet, sweet little voice when Apollo came through the door, and purring like a motor as he settled on Apollo's chest for the night.

That was going to be it, honestly, they were more than enough and even after several months, he still smiled when going about his day and the thought crossed his mind that the pair of them were waiting at home. It's a uniquely rewarding experience to wake up to the two of them curled up like fuzzy puzzle pieces at his side.

But when he brings McCoy back to the shelter for a free round of shots, he sees Dahlia.

The cat is a truly ugly thing, and Apollo thinks whoever named her such a fancy, elegant name was cruel, and obviously making a joke at the cat's expense. Her face is smushed in a way that'd be hard to even call ugly-cute, one eye droops shut, and her tongue pokes out in a particularly doofy fashion.

"Oh, yeah," says the shelter volunteer when she sees where Apollo is looking. "This is the seventh time she's been brought back. She's kind of a problem child."

To Apollo, the number is something of a sign. He'd been sent to seven different foster homes. He's already buying multi-cat kitty litter, so he decides just one more wouldn't hurt. Briscoe and McCoy had gotten along so well, despite McCoy being so timid. Surely with enough patience, and a safe environment, Dahlia would blossom.

Dahlia has a laundry list of problems: she has awful gas. She scratches, everything, his couch, his curtains, even the walls themselves. She uses the litter box enough that Apollo knows she doesn't have a particular problem with it, she just prefers to surprise Apollo every so often with little puddles on his bathroom rug, on his dresser, in his bed, in his closet.

McCoy and Briscoe attempt to wrestle with Dahlia, but when she doesn't give off a warning, nasty little yowl, she's just luring them closer before swiping at them nastily.

McCoy quickly learns to keeps his distance, but Briscoe dislikes Dahlia and lets her know it. Apollo's come home twice now to find the two of them eying each other down in a troubling fashion. He decides to start separating the two of them before he leaves for the day. To be fair, he alternates the cat that he keeps closed in the guest room, Dahlia one day and Briscoe the next.

Dahlia doesn't seem to like anyone, really, she attacks Apollo's ankles when he walks by and generally ignores McCoy, who knows to stay out of her way.

So there's no real warning the night he comes home to find McCoy curled on the kitchen floor, his white stomach ripped and stained red. McCoy is cold, has obviously been dead for several hours, and Apollo is unprepared for this, the level of his grief, hands hovering uselessly over the dead body for several moments, unsure of what to do. It takes him several more moments to realize he's hesitating out of fear of touching McCoy wrong, hurting him further. When he actually puts it into words, the cat is dead, he can't be hurt, is when he cries.

It's startling when he looks in the doorway and sees Dahlia, watching him with her one good eye, licking at her paw almost daintily.

Briscoe searches for several days, investigating each room, meowing in a voice Apollo only just now realizes is her call for McCoy. He feels too guilty to even touch his remaining cats, even Dahlia. Obviously, he's not doing right be her, she's unnecessarily aggressive which has to be a sign of insecurity.

Briscoe seems almost protective of Apollo now, settling possessively on Apollo's lap and eying Dahlia darkly.

They've never actually fought, but one night tensions finally break and Apollo wakes up around 2am to what sounds to be the very center of hell opening in his living room. Dahlia and Briscoe are screeching, yowling, scratching, clawing at each other. It was stupid to reach in there, but Apollo is still practically asleep, and for some reason he's sure that McCoy is under them, in the middle of the fight, and if he could just reach him, he'd be safe. The first scratch wakes him up from this delirious notion, and his hands are a raw, bloody mess by the time he gets them separated.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" Mr. Wright actually grabs his wrists, turning Apollo's hands over to examine them. He shakes his head, already knowing enough about what's going on with Apollo's Dahlia problem that he doesn't need to hear the specifics. "You need to take that cat back."

But that's not an option, not to Apollo, and he wonders if this is him being selfish.

After that he gives up on getting the two of them to get along, and feels a bit like a warden in his own home. Herding one cat into one room before releasing the other cat from another, keeping them in carefully sectioned off areas, separated by a door at all times.

It only took one slip up. Apollo didn't properly close the door of the room Briscoe was staying in for the day. In all honesty, it was Dahlia that Apollo was trying to protect-- she's smaller than Briscoe, seems dumber, slower, but she must've gotten the upper-hand somehow.

He didn't tell anyone about McCoy's death when it happened, too tender to be able to take any teasing that might result in crying over a lost pet. But finding Briscoe is such a demolishing, world ending thing -- there's a trail of blood, going from the bathroom to Apollo's bedroom, where she collapsed on the ground, unable to make it up to his bed -- he can only turn around, walk out the door, and he returns to the Wright home in something of a daze.

"I thought you were done for the night," Mr. Wright says, holding a pencil in his mouth as he sorts through some case file. Apollo just nods, and drops listlessly on Wright's couch. His vision starts blurring, and to his surprise, there's no teasing, no insults. And when his tears become outright blubbering, Wright actually puts his hand on Apollo's head and forces him against his chest, allowing him to muffle the sound of it against his hoodie.

BONUS:

  
It's illegal, what Phoenix is doing. Apollo will probably throw a fit when he wakes up and finds out, but Phoenix knows he hated having to give the first cat's body to the city to be _disposed of_. Besides, no one's gonna notice one he's filled the hole back up again.

He gives a friendly nod to neighbors who stop to stare at the crazy man with the shovel walking down the hallway, dirt on his pants, hands and cheeks.

Phoenix hasn't felt squeamish in years, but the animal's dead weight is unnerving, and he winces as it flops in his hands when he wraps it in a old bed sheet.

"Sorry, little guy," he murmurs as carries the body out the bedroom, wondering what can be done about the bloodstain.

It almost sounds like a voice, at first, a voice he once knew. But it's not, it's the angry, low warning noise of a cat and Phoenix feels the hairs stand on the back of his neck as he locks eyes with the angriest creature he's ever seen in his life.

Its eyes are glowing, demonic, and Phoenix doesn't have a second of denial -- it's Dahlia. That is Dahlia. Phoenix stares at the cat a moment longer, a cat that clearly doesn't like him, whether it knows why or not. Its tail is puffed, teeth bared, back arched as it releases a longer, louder howl.

Phoenix calmly sets down the body, and picks up the shovel.

He leaves Apollo's apartment with his arms full, one cat in a bed sheet, another plastic bag that he'll drop off at the city.

  
*  
(next time she's coming back as a cockroach)


End file.
